Marthe reached out and stuck one of the asters into the top buttonhole of his vest. She was close enough for her scent to envelop him like a cloud.
His cheeks burned. “I am supposed to join my master,” he mumbled and quickly walked on to where he had seen Master Nowak.
“Peter, come and sit with us.” Cune’s shirt was buttoned wrong, and his socks had slipped down. He had a smudge on his cheek. He was just a year younger than Peter, but sometimes Peter felt as if they were apart by many years.
“Nice of you to join us.” Anne, sitting on a blanket, scowled at Peter. As usual, she had braided her long blond hair and twisted the braids into a bun at the nape of her neck. “Pretty flower you got there.”
There was an edge in her voice Peter hadn’t heard from her before.
“This?” He fumbled at t
